


Daddy-Daughter Time

by augustadacica



Category: Leverage
Genre: Community: comment_fic, F/M, Future Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-18
Updated: 2011-08-18
Packaged: 2017-10-22 19:06:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/241508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/augustadacica/pseuds/augustadacica
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kids learn the darndest things. Short, slice-of-life future!fic; fluff-adjacent. Written for the kids theme at comment_fic -- see end-notes for prompt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Daddy-Daughter Time

**Author's Note:**

> (note: when indulging in this particular vision of them enough years down the line, I could easily see Sophie doing the odd con here and there as needed, but Eliot getting out of the game completely and being just hugely content as a SAH-dad.)

She should have known something was going on around the second she set foot out of the taxi, when he came all the way out to the mailbox to catch her in a long — insistent! — ‘I missed you, babe, welcome home’ hug and kiss.

And kiss.

And ki— ooh, yes! — and kiss again.

Evidently, she had known, but opted to pay no heed to the warning. After all, that was _not_ , generally speaking, the way a man greeted you when the job you’d left on had extended three days over schedule and kept you incommunicado for the last two of those. (Clearly, though, it rather was.) Having Melina all to himself nearly a fortnight must have been good for him.

It usually was — those few times a year that Sophie stole off to do a job. Of course, these days, they leant more along the line of favours: low-risk, high-reward, occasionally rush-inducing favours, rare after she’d got used to her recent four-year hiatus. And she knew how Eliot relished having these smatterings of daddy-daughter time.

Still caught up in her man’s affections, Sophie let her gaze linger on the too-quiet doorway. She couldn’t help wonder why Melina wasn’t rushing out yet, all wild hair and skinned knees and _knowing something_. She wondered, too, what her baby would lecture her on this time: previously it had been the smells and colours of their herb garden, and before that, the proper names of strip and cube cuts and the correct time to boil an egg. If you didn’t know better, Sophie would catch herself thinking now and again, you might think bedtime reading came by way of Delia Smith.

And speaking of her pint-sized bundle of boundless energy and curls, there went the side door slamming open, the pitter-patter (rushed thumping, but surely they could pass for synonyms) of her daughter’s sprint, and the running stop straight into her knees.

“Mommy, mommy, mommy, you’re home! But — oh.” And her baby looked up and fully adopted her most put-out, dejected look. Sophie exchanged a glance with Eliot as she shifted to a crouch.

“What’s the matter, darling?”

“Well— It’s just— Daddy and I couldn’t come rescue you,” Melina declared with every bit of the gravitas she usually reserved for that moue. “We’ve been practicin’ and everything.” A hard tug on her hand inevitably got Sophie moving. “Come on, come see!”

That they made their way in through the kitchen was unsurprising. Melina had come out that way, as she preferred to do. That the kitchen was immaculate was likewise to be expected. Eliot was… particular about the space where he pursued his art. What _was_ a bit peculiar was that the kitchen smelled of nothing, when Eliot tended to make it a point — ‘Our own family tradition, darlin,’ — to have some kind of meal in progress at the time she got in. Downright incongruous was the thick plinth panel covering up a wide section of the largest wall — and on it a burly, ski-masked paper cut-out sporting enough incisions to keep a medical drama in good supply.

Sophie could feel the corners of her mouth starting to tighten. Eliot had the far side of the stables for his ‘upkeep’, so _what_ —

“ _Look_ , Mommy, look what I can do!” And with a move far defter than her tiny fingers should have managed, Melina picked up a paring knife, tested its balance, then flicked it straight at the plinth-covered wall. It made a hollow thunk when it embedded vertically in a wrinkled beige wrist.

Sophie raised an eyebrow, half-questioningly; lest it be said otherwise, she'd had the decency not to expect for Eliot to look sheepish in the slightest. Between the curve of his lips and the gleam in his eyes, he was the picture of ‘fiercely proud’.

**Author's Note:**

> Original prompt: leverage, eliot/sophie, "Mommy, look what i can do!" Sophie raised a questioning brow in Eliot's direction as their five year old flicked a paring knife across the room and embedded it in the wall.


End file.
